Midnight. Christmas Eve 1985. A walk through the snowy streets of North Manchester. Simo Reilly and I, stumbling drunk towards the looming tower of Our Lady of Some Random Thing.
We entered quietly, and sat in the shadows at the back.
Too drunk on fortified wine to take communion, we slump and slur in the darkness.
There is a sermon, about new beginnings, hope, optimism, rebirth. I can’t remember all the words now, I was too befuddled with drink.
The sermon ends, and overcome with enthusiasm, we applaud. Quickly we are ushered outside. “Don’t you always applaud at the end?” Says Simo, struggling to remain upright as we slip and slide away in the falling snow.